Rex's elusiveness seemed to add to his appeal as a man of mystery, a dashing soldier with a doubtful reputation. His pursuit by matchmaking mamas and their desperate daughters was merciless, which amused Daniel as much as the mummies had. Showing as much sympathy as his cousin, Lady Royce reminded Rex that a betrothal announcement in the newspapers would end the chase immediately.
Amanda decided she had been seen enough. She'd rather stay at home with a book, one with a happy ending.
Almost every morning Rex had a real gallop in the park, before the fog lifted, and before the paths were clogged with the dandy set showing off their ensembles, or Corinthians showing off their highbred horses.
After his ride Rex often went to assist Inspector Dimm. Daniel disliked going to Bow Street, saying he had rashes for hours afterward, but Rex found the work interesting, the criminal mind a fascinating study. As for Dimm, the Runner was thinking of taking a holiday, his first in dog years, because the crime rate was so low. He was winning commendations and collecting rewards for all the convictions, plus making the streets of London safer. If he could only figure out how Rex could tell the guilty from the innocent, he said, he'd be a happy man.
No news came from the Aide, or Major Harrison, or whatever name the man was using that week. No messengers accosted the viscount; no messages awaited him at McCann's. All Rex could do was go over his list and call on the last remaining names, with little success.
Robert Vincent, Esquire, was indeed another lawyer, a solicitor who freely admitted drawing up some papers for Sir Frederick Hawley's prospective investors, but he did not recall the names or the amounts. His clerk had handled the petty details. No, the clerk was no longer in the lawyer's employ. He had emigrated to Canada. And no, Mr. Vincent did not have a copy. Lord Rexford could show all the warrants he wanted, his large cousin could glower until the cows came home, but a recent fire in the office had destroyed all of the files. Yes, he had invested some of his own money to finance a sailing venture.
"For what? Surely you must have asked what the ship was fetching?"
"I believe it was gold. Stolen gold. Gold from a sunken pirate ship that was recently discovered."
"You gave your gold to find gold?" Daniel was incredulous, but he was not itching.
"Hawley had the charts and records of the sightings, official ones, from the navy. It was all a hum, of course. No one knows where the Black Speculator went down."
With the name of the ship, Rex and Daniel could return to some of the people they had questioned before. Lydia Burton's door was closed to them, of course, but White's was not, and Lords Havering and Hove were both still dining there nightly.
Havering admitted he'd invested. Hove slapped his knee and laughed. He'd turned down the opportunity to bring back doubloons and bullion that existed only in a madman's pipe dream.
George Cuthbert had met with a hunting accident and was being sent to recuperate at his family's plantation in Jamaica. Now that Rex knew the right questions to ask, he discovered that Cuthbert was suspected of stealing maps and charts, old ones at that, from the Admiralty offices.
Joseph Johnston of the shipping business would not see them. He left by the back door of his office when they went in the front. He took refuge in his house, with six dock-workers guarding every entrance. No matter, one of his captains enjoyed the rum the cousins bought for him. What else was a sea dog like him to do, stuck in harbor? Yes, rumor had it they were to sail on some secret mission, but he was never ordered to outfit the ship for a journey, so here he sat, growing barnacles instead of rich. The Black Speculator! He laughed so hard he almost spilled his drink. Who would believe that old legend?
The banker, Breverton, had gone on a sudden vacation in Scotland, and Lysander Cord had moved out of the Albany, without a forwarding address. At least Roger Vandermere was still in Fleet Prison, but had no more information to add.
Bowdecker, the belligerent drunk, had been struck by a coach last week and was not expected to recover. Added to Cuthbert's injury and the fire at the law offices, Bowdecker's accident was looking highly suspicious.
By now Rex was having a hard time deciding which were the pigeons being taken, and which were the hawks doing the plucking. He could not tell the honest investors, if there was anything honest about the shady transaction, from those who had helped concoct the scheme. All he knew was that they were all left with nothing by Sir Frederick.
Then Murchison related a bit of information he had unearthed in the emigre community. Sir Frederick's former valet, Brusseau, not only had a brother, but the brother was known to travel to France, by the light of the full moon.
"I knew it! I knew they were involved with smuggling."
Daniel swore when Rex told him at breakfast the next day, forgetting all of his other theories. "With all that money and havey-cavey treasure hunts, there was bound to be a French connection."
Rex knew Daniel would blame the constant rain on the French if he could. "But how can we prove it, and prove Sir Nigel and the others were part of it?"
"I say we find the brother and beat the tar out of him."
"You are forgetting that we are gentlemen now."
Daniel swallowed the rest of the kippers and looked around to make sure the countess and Amanda were busy at their own breakfasts, discussing the day's plans. "Um, coz, no offense intended, but I don't think gentlemen go around creeping into ladies' rooms in the dead of night."
"I did not go into her room. I was merely checking on Miss Carville's whereabouts, lest she escape out the window or something."
Daniel scratched his nose, and grinned. "Um-hum."
"And how did you find out I was in the hall anyway? You were fast asleep. I heard your snores."
"Dodd had it from the footman stationed in the hall. I gave both of them a coin to keep mum."
"So did I. The servants here will all be wealthy by the time we leave."
"When will that be, do you think? I love your mother and all, stands to reason, she's my aunt, but I have to tell you, I ain't much for the opera and the art gallery, and less for dance parties." He leaned closer to Rex. "And she's talking about taking Amanda to Almack's."
Rex fed Verity his suddenly unappetizing breakfast. "Hell. We better get to the bottom of this mess soon, and not just because that court date is looming. Too bad Murchison's sources had no idea where the brother can be found."
"Then what if we find the valet and choke the information out of him? Oh, I forgot, we are gentlemen."
"Not by half, not when the alternative is Almack's. We'll try for him soon. He's bound to leave Johnston's place sooner or later." He posted watchmen outside the house, who watched the guards, who were watching for Rex. He also sent another note to McCann's Club, relating his latest findings.
Brusseau never showed his face, to Amanda's disappointment. She did not know what the cousins intended, thank goodness, but she knew they were running out of suspects, and out of time.
Rex tried to reassure her, not liking how her eyes had shadows under them and how she barely tasted the food set in front of her. They were getting closer, he swore. Soon they would unravel all the loose ends and find what Sir Frederick was truly doing with the money. Perhaps they would find he'd cheated others with his far-fetched tale of a lost pirate ship filled with gold waiting to be hauled up from the ocean floor. One of those men had to have killed him.